


The Ice has Melted Back to Life

by Ambrosia



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blowjobs, F/M, Wall Sex, this porn suddenly developed plot idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She turns back to him and smiles, the private one, the one she shows a very select clientele. “You gonna keep calling me ‘boss’ even when we’re bashin’ and mashin’, MacCready?”</p><p>He grins. His two favorite hobbies. “Yes and yes.”</p><p>Thank God for Cryonics and shitty Vault-Tec experiments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ice has Melted Back to Life

He stupidly shoots across the space between them and kisses her, simply because he’s blanked on a better way to shut her up. Because, yes, he can talk about guns and grenades and caps until the sun comes up but for the weirdest reason he just, he can’t take it anymore? He can’t stand loitering even two feet away from this, this person that has suddenly become his north frickin’ star, like he’s gonna go nuts if he has to wait one more second. 

And the kiss. It’s brief and sort of sloppy and definitely not his best work, but MacCready pulls back immediately. Did he actually just, was he dumb enough to just, what the fuck?

The ironic thing is, he knows. He _knows_ , because Capable, Capable burns. She burns too hot and laughs too ferociously and then goes ice cold, but he still knows that to her, her husband, the husband that she loved, has been dead for 200 and something years. And yet, not, because cryonic preservation existed solely to make his life more complicated.

“Shii—shoot, I’m—” he starts.

She blinks slowly through bloodshot eyes. He can’t remember the last time she actually slept. But then, “Bobby.”

He’s ready for it, the incoming gentle letdown. It was too soon. She helped him with Duncan and teased him and they comforted one another about the husband and wife that they’d lost, somehow sharing that unique kind of pain. She shoves at his shoulder sometimes and smiles, a smile that she hides from almost everybody else. She looks like hell and she shoots like hell and she _burns_ like hell, but it’s his brand of hell. Of course it was too soon. His mistake, and he almost wishes he could take it back, but somehow he can still taste her on his lips and she tastes like the earth. From, y’know, before. 

“Boss, I mean,” he starts, ready to run, ready to run all the way back to the Capital Wasteland. God, ten days ago he’d told her he hadn’t realized she’d thought of their relationship that way, could he make up his goddamn mind, please? “I’m sorry, that was—”

She grabs him by the collar of his jacket and pushes him over to the dilapidated brick wall and sinks her teeth into his lips.

It isn’t gentle, either, like he’d have expected from his first stupid mistake of the day. He’s dazed for a second, has a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that a) he actually just did that, and b) holy God she just actually did _that_. And then his brain sort of kick-starts itself and it’s a clashing of teeth and hissed breaths as Capable cards her nails through his hair that is somehow the most erotic thing he’s experienced in, like, his entire goddamn life.

Like everything else is with them, they’re rough. Jackets, headgear, and impromptu bandages are somehow tossed away and at one point MacCready sucks and pulls against her pulse point with his teeth before he comes back up for air. “Boss?”

She’s breathing hard and still has her hands curled into bruised fists around his neck and collar, and her lips are swollen. “Yeah?”

“Are you, uh,” he tries. He’s so goddamn hard, when did he get this hard? Blood, go back north for like, half a second, please. “Boss, are you sure about, uh, this?”

He looks for any sign that he might have overstepped, or somethin’, because, okay, realistically, they’re in one of the old buildings near Goodneighbor and have just recently removed the previous inhabitants and started rifling through their ‘acquired’ shit. Only he’d realized how late it’d gotten and the two of them had decided it would probably be best to shove a couch up against the door, lock the windows and hunker down for the night. 

Short story even shorter: this was not exactly Scollay Square, back in Hancock’s turf. There wasn’t even a bed. Okay, there was, sort of, but it wasn’t one that he’d even consider.

This train of thought made him realize that he’d jumped from the second movement to the finale, like in one of those songs that they played sometimes on Diamond City Radio. Goddamn his dick.

And, like some running cosmic joke, apparently he isn’t the only one that’s noticed the bulge against his thigh. 

“Bobby,” she says. He swallows. “Really?”

“What?” he asks, half offended. “I’m a functioning adult. Adults have needs. I have eyes. Functioning eyes. It’s a natural reaction.”

Okay, so, let it be known: Robert Joseph MacCready is an entirely human, weak-willed man. He can shoot a butterfly off a mutated mutt’s bony ass from four hundred yards and _holy christmas cake_ , where is she going?

His hands fly up to the wall behind him when Capable unbuckles his belt and pulls his trousers off his hips and gives him that same crooked smile that has quite literally killed people. He’s half intimidated, and at the same time, half incredibly hot for it. He lets out a mumbled curse as she sinks down, and she manages to take his underwear down at the same time. When her hands go straight to his cock, Bobby finds that he doesn’t mind this change of plan at _all_.

She doesn’t take him straight into her mouth right away, but instead pulls him out and tugs on him a couple times and he almost sees those stupid VaultTec advertisement cartoon stars. “Oh, god,” he sighs, eyes falling shut. “Kill me.”

“Maybe later, Bobby,” he hears from roughly dick-level.

As hard as he was, he’s completely not ready for how hot her mouth is as she takes him in. He spits out another curse with much more force this time as she takes him in further, all previous intent to remain good evaporating straight out of his head. “Oh, man. Oh, man,” he prays. “Oh, fuck me.”

One of her hands leaves his upper thigh and circles the base of his dick. The only sound he actually manages to make is some sort of squeak, followed by the _thud_ of his head smacking against the brick wall. Again.

“Oh, fuck me backwards and sideways,” he hisses, holding onto the exposed wooden supports of the wall for dear life. “Boss—holy fuck, fuck, oh fuck, baby, oh God.”

The more he babbles, the faster she goes, which, in a strange loopty-loop, makes him babble more. He’s always been a babbler, even with shit that’s not sex-related. Like, his ratio of ‘shit that I think up that immediately spews out of my stupid mouth’ is like four billion to one.

It also takes an incredible amount of self control to not dig his hands into her hair, so he grips the wall even tighter. Not that he doesn’t want to, holy shit, he wants to, his hips are actually twitching as she pops him back out of her mouth to use her tongue against his slit. He’s gonna die. Fuck, she’s gonna kill him, or he’s gonna stop breathing first and MacCready honestly can’t tell which way is a better way to go.

“Boss,” he gasps, and stares down at her.

She has to slide him out two inches before she answers him. “Yes, Bobby?”

He wasn’t the praying type. Never had been, never had room for it in-between killing people and running, but goddamn him if he wouldn’t have asked God for mercy. She takes him almost all the way down and seems to almost swallow and hum, something, shit, and MacCready is inches away from begging for his life. “Aw, fuck.”

His hips snap in the direction of her mouth he comes with a harsh groan. MacCready honestly can’t remember the last time he’s done this, and he isn’t a virtuous guy. Okay, technically he had been getting better until this point. Now he’s pretty sure he’s back to about where he was when he started this whole redemption schtick.

It takes him three whole spurts to empty himself. He almost curses, he should’ve thought of that before making either the dumbest or best decision of his entire life. Seriously, he could have held it together better. 

He was fairly sure he’d actually keened at one point.

“You have,” she says, standing up. “A filthy mouth.”

God, he does, and he’s supposed to be being good and here he is, eyes on Capable’s chin and knowing that he just came into her mouth and still wants to slide his tongue over her swollen lips. “Hey,” he tries. His head’s light. “That’s my word. Line,” he corrects. “That’s my line.”

After a second she’s back in his arms. He’s almost loopy, which so does not match his merc persona. Smiling, she turns around and leans back against him so that her back is resting against his chest. 

And it should be intimate, it should be gentle, but that crook on her lips has killed people for less than what she just did to him and it also means that her ass is against the length of his cock, and her hands are sliding up into his hair. Bobby’s hands have nowhere safe to go, until Capable pulls them down and presses them against her hips. 

He knows her body from mostly legit reasons, okay. There’s only so many bullets and molotov burns and stimpaks that he can treat and administer before a shirt comes off. He’s seen wounds from his merc days, so skin doesn’t really get him, but, okay, he’s human. It’s kinda impossible not to notice when he had to pry glass out of her ribcage. He also knows that in two months she went from Boston pre-war middle-class lady to scrappy, wirey, murderous terror of the Commonwealth’s baddies. With a fuckin' sniper rifle.

But fortunately, he’s in the mood to be very affectionate. He’s careful, at first, but it becomes immediately apparent that Capable is still running at full thrusters. The slightest bit of touch from his bare hands on her skin elicits a moan.

And, just because he’s an asshole and he can and it’s _there_ , he bites the place where her neck meets her collarbone. Gently at first, and then runs his tongue over the mark and soothes the bruised skin. His hands have started roaming everywhere and everywhere is apparently right where Capable wants him. “Boss?”

“Please, please, please,” she whimpers. 

Well, he does aim to please.

He flips them around so she’s pressed face-forward against the brick wall and gets his hands underneath her shirt and draws them up towards her scarred chest. It doesn’t take much until he’s flush against her back again. He sucks on the hickey that he’s slowly been working on.

The only problem is, the harder he does, the more she rolls her hips back against him. And, MacCready’s at that sweet spot between ready and unready, so it feels fuckin’ great. He bites his lip between his teeth to keep from groaning. “Boss,” he says against her neck. The words won’t get out, cause his mouth is dry. “We gotta, we gotta,” he moans as she grinds against his already half-hard dick. “We should find a better place.”

“S’fine,” she says.

“You sure?”

He doesn’t actually get a response. He canters his hips a bit and thrusts them forward quick and sharp, and her head actually lulls. “Oh _, Bobby_.”

He’s never heard his name said like a prayer before. Not even Lucy called him ‘Bobby’. It’s… fantastic. Erotic, intimate, the sound of it seems to burn itself into his ears.

Eventually he can’t take it anymore. They’re basically fucking upright at this point. The friction is fuckin’ fantastic but all he can think about is how warm her body is and how tight she’s gonna feel pressed against his cock.

He makes a move to push her leggings down so he can slip in from behind, and she seems to sense it, because she yanks everything down to her thighs in seconds and spreads her legs wide so he’s got plenty of room.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” MacCready hisses. She’s dripping. He doesn’t even need to finagle his cock into position. It twitches once and slips in and holy _jesus_. She’s so wet that sliding himself all the way in is absolutely easy, but still, he waits. He wants to start fucking, rutting, doing anything so that he can feel that friction against his cock, but he waits.

Capable braces hard against the wall and presses back, pulls forward, and presses back again. She leans forward at a steeper angle, maybe trying to get his cock to hit a certain spot. He sinks his hands into her hips and lets himself find the pace she wants to go at.

It goes quick. He tries to vary his speed, to stop himself from finishing too fast, but she’s almost halfway there by the time he even really gets going. 

“Fuck!” Capable’s voice rises. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna, oh God, Bobby.”

He doesn’t deserve this. 

Like, what Saint was he in a past life? Did he save babies? Rescue nuns from a burning nunnery? Who the hell had he impressed so much that they had granted him this? He wants it, more than anything that he’s ever wanted in this entire goddamn crooked world, but that doesn’t stop him from wondering which demon he made a deal with. He thrusts himself particularly deep and Capable moans out his name and oh, _Jesus_. He’s going to hell. Twice. 

He uses one of his fingers to hook her underthings aside and grinds his palm into the spot just below her clit and she bucks against him and— fuck. Fuck him. 

She pants. “Oh, man. Shit.”

“Boss?”

“No, no, keep going!” She tells him, fast. “Oh, you are so, we are so, oh man. Fuck. _Mac._ ” 

She pushes against him, sliding further up his cock and MacCready sees stars. His hips snap automatically and she grabs at the wall in surprise. Every thrust hits against something building at the base of his spine. 

If they’d left anybody alive in this building— which, doubtful, he’s got no doubt in his entire brain that they definitely know what they are getting up to. Between him and Capable, plus the sound of flesh against flesh, he kinda hopes those Raider sons’a’bitches hear every moan.

“Almost, almost, almost,” she starts almost singing. Each word was an octave higher than the last and her head’s thrown back against his shoulder and _shit_ , he’s getting close too. He’s drawing circles around her clit in rhythm with the snapping of his hips against her ass and she’s thrusting against his cock and his hand at the same time and holy fuck he’s gonna come apart, he’s gonna come apart—

He knows that Capable comes first because of the way that she stiffens and clutches at his arms and his head and the way that the muscles around his cock start almost pulsing. He groans loudly, voice breaking. There’s nothing he wants more than to come and spend himself as deep inside her as he possibly could. Shit, he almost does.

Except he already has a mini-MacCready running around the Capital Wasteland, and that thought jerks him right out of that particular fantasy. “Shit, _shit_.”

He pulls out last second, almost too late, and comes all over his hand and thigh. When it’s all said and done it’s just the two of them bracing against one another, breathing hard and sweaty. He’s like, ninety-percent sure he just made a mess of his jeans. He feels like he could inhale for ten minutes straight and still not be getting enough oxygen to his brain. 

“Bobby?”

“Mm?” It’s all he can manage. He’s surprised he manages that much.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Capable has her arms still wrapped around the exposed woodwork in the wall, and he’s got his face buried in the line of her spine. For once, the sweat dripping down the back of his neck feels good. He lifts his head up and meets her gaze. “Of course, boss. Why, you not okay?”

That crooked, dangerous smile is back, but it sort of has a different effect on her face this time around. Instead of responding, she kisses him.

He nudges his nose against her nose and picks up her shirt and hands it to her.

Eventually, though, the separate. Pull themselves back together, put their clothing back on or at least stack them neatly, er, neater, than they were. The world sorta realigns itself back to how it had been fifteen minutes ago. It kinda sits weird, now that he thinks about it.

But it’s kinda hard to tell after the pleasant post-sex buzz floating around inside his skull.

By the time he’s done checking and double checking every point of entrance in their little penthouse away from, well, various shacks and rooms that they’ve called home over the past view months, blocking the doors and setting traps at every point his gut tells him he should, Capable’s dug out some of their rations and the single handheld generator that’s small enough to carry with them.

Small enough to generate some light but small enough that they won’t attract company. And it means that they won’t be drenched in total darkness. Well, that, and the neon eyesore that is Goodneighbor across the way. 

He turns to comment on it, maybe get a laugh out of Capable, but the same neon eyesore that hurt his eyes from this height seems to give her a neon halo. It makes harsh shadows that make her crooked grin worse and the bags underneath her eyes even more pronounced. “Boss?”

She blinks at him. Opens her mouth. Shuts it again. MacCready gets a horrible cramp in his gut that smells an awful lot like fear.

“Sometimes things don’t feel real, for me,” Capable says. She kinda laughs in that self-depreciating humor that she has. “You shoulda seen me the first week out of the icebox, I was a mess. I don’t think I slept. I kept expecting that I was gonna wake up and ‘oh, whoops, it was a dream’.”

Okay, that’s, that’s not exactly something he wants to hear almost immediately after sex. Or maybe it is? At this point it could go either way. 

“I stumbled into Goodneighbor half dead, to be perfectly honest,” she tells him, scratching at an old scab on her chin. It was a Stingwing, if he remembers it correctly. 

He does remember. Of course he does. There wasn’t much in this life actually strong enough to erase that moment from his head. 

“I just, I figured I needed somebody other than Dogmeat to watch my back, because you know that damn dog stumbles into those Frag mines more often than not, and there you were, getting your ass beat by two Gunners,” she smiles. He scoffs indignantly. “I’d literally just walked into the Third Rail and said ‘Hey, I heard there’s a merc down here, where is he?’, and they all pointed me to that room you were in.”

“I’d like to point out,” he says. “I had that handled, and you stuck your pretty little nose in somebody else’s business.”

“And I’m completely butchering this,” she confesses. 

Butchering, butchering what? If anything it’s his gun and run attitude that has fucked him up so utterly.

“Shit. I’m, I’m sorry,” she tries. She turns and looks up at him, even in the pathetic amount of light. “I’m trying to tell you that you’re the only thing that makes me feel real anymore. Like I matter. Like I didn’t miss out on two centuries and nobody gave a damn.”

At this point, he can’t even imagine what his life would be like if she hadn’t walked into the Third Rail with that crooked smile and a pocket full of caps. It kinda makes him sick to his stomach. Like, where the fuck would he be? Probably dead, thanks to Winlock and Barnes. Or drunk as hell in the Third Rail. Killing more people for money because shit, what the hell else could he do with his skillset? Duncan would probably be dead by now. Like Lucy.

He frowns down at his hands and glances between them and Capable, contemplating that for a second. In an odd way, that ice melting gave him life. Well, a better one, at least. “Plenty of people give a damn, boss.”

She turns back to him and smiles, the private one, the one she shows a very select clientele. “You gonna keep calling me ‘boss’ even when we’re bashin’ and mashin’, MacCready?”

He grins. His two favorite hobbies. “Yes and yes.”

Thank God for Cryonics and shitty Vault-Tec experiments. 

“We’re two for one, you know, boss,” he says, offhandedly. He toes his boots off and undoes the belts at this waist, properly this time, and starts closing the gap between them. A hungry look plasters itself across his face. “You realize I can’t let that kinda debt stand.”

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I ship something new I'm like 'I'm surprised and kinda ashamed that I'm here, how did this happen' and now it's like 'yep, here I am, shipping this merc with a mouth with a 230-something year old boston housewife turned mercenary'.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.valorious.tumblr.com)


End file.
